


Carriage Capable Frames

by goresque



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Birth, Continuity Mashup, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Impregnation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Preg, Memory Loss, Other, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings, babies ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:25:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8279401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goresque/pseuds/goresque
Summary: While Orion Pax is with the Decepticons, his heat cycles hit. Megatron offers him a chance to live out a deep seated desire he's had his entire life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore a type of heat cycle that was more about discomfort and awkwardness, since that's how I feel Orion Pax would deal with it.

Orion Pax would have doomed the damn cycles to the Pits if he had a stronger spark. 

But he was weak. He had a soft spot in his chamber, made for nurture and love, something he could give to offspring that may come forth from his frame. He knew the dangers of having a frame capable of carriage; it was so much easier as a sire to endure a rut, the constant pissing contests and play-dominating. As a carrier he got to endure the discomfort of hypersensitivity and  _ painful _ overloads.

It didn't stop Orion from his work.

The damnable heat hadn't left his processor despite his focus. Instead of self servicing he focused on codes and updating himself on history. He had much to do, and yet a wayward servo kept returning to the seams of his interface panel, rubbing there.

It was the only real pleasant sensation he was likely to get from the heat. He knew if he opened his panel (and  _ oh _ his processor continued to show him requests to slide back the panel) he would be left with the agony of an over sensitive valve and self servicing his spike couldn't quite satisfy this itch in his loins.

Slag it all, what he really needed was a hard, thorough  _ spiking _ . Preferably with a virile sire, a spike long enough to penetrate his gestational tank-

His servo had continued its insistent rubbing.

Orion knew the desire to procreate was because of the heat. His cycles had always been irregular, but he knew when he returned to his rightful mind he would be disappointed, without child, but knowing it was not time yet.

“Orion.” Or perhaps it was time.

Orion’s servos lingered on his panel, turning to see Megatron in the aperture. It cycled shut behind the gladiator- ex gladiator, he scolded himself- to give them privacy. Orion found himself fantasizing of Megatron’s wide servos pressing him to his console, his thick legs spreading him thin across the desk. He thought of what his spike must be like- he distinctly remembered Megatron, when he had been Megatronus, had often been studded out during rut. A virile sire, surely the most compelling genetic match for his achingly empty gestational tank.

“Lord Megatron, old friend,” he said, voice soft to his ire. He was not a soft spoken mech, though he was mild mannered. He did not cower under power. “You've come to relieve me? Of- of my duties, of course.”

“Orion,” Megatron repeated, this time shifting his stance. He cocked his helm, red optics watching and observing. Orion had never been so frustrated. His valve throbbed behind his panel at the mere thought that Megatron’s olfactory sensors could pick up on his vulnerable state. Perhaps Megatron would see fit to relieve Orion of his entire interface panel.

“Your cycle has begun.”

Orion leaned back against the console, his knees parting in his own small way to entice the captain. “It has. I have always been irregular, but this… We are so far from Cybertron, I thought- I thought perhaps I would be spared. I was wrong.” Orion over his works, betraying the carefully constructed focus he had gathered.

“Your coding knows there are few of us left,” Megatron stated. “You have been fueled sufficiently and your frame stabilized. There are healthy and viable sires around you. Your programming has seen it fit to try and- forgive my crassness- spark you up. For the good of our kind.”

“Perhaps it is time…” Orion said, his eyes ghosting over like he were fantasizing. He was. His mind was consumed by thoughts of Megatron pounding his hypersensitive valve until he was leaking transfluid and his abdominal plating was distended. He embarrassed himself- he had never been quite so blatant in his desires. “But perhaps not. War is no place for sparklings. How irresponsible of me. I swear it, Megatron, I will not let this distract me. My apologies for acting like a budding youngling- I have more discipline than that.”

“Come with me, Orion.” Megatron brushed a servo over Orion’s shoulder plating; it sent ripples of tactile stimulation through Orion, bordering on painful. He kept it to himself, instead joining his captain through the halls of the  _ Nemesis _ .

They ended before an aperture that was heavily guarded- two sentries and a servo-reader. It opened for Megatron, though Orion knew it would not for him.

The sight before him was amazing.

“A nursery,” Orion gasped. Behind a plate of glass lay rows of tiny berths, bundled frames he counted seven, and then looked past the tiny ones to see younglings behind them in a closed off space. As he took a closer look he saw they all had tiny red optics, silver highlights, or silver primaries, and- “They're all…”

“I have sired them all, yes. I saw it fit to teach my troops that only I am to spark them up. I can think of no better genetics than my own.” Megatron clasped his servos behind his hand. “I do not force them. It is their choice to have a sparkling with me.

“Soundwave cares for them,” Megatron continued, a pregnant pause taking up space between them. “As well as Knock Out, who is currently carrying his second. They both have sparklings in the fold.”

“Do you take them from their carriers?” Orion asked, horrific tones lacing his question.

Megatron snarled, features twisting up in disgust. “Of course not. This is merely a care facility. The carriers are free to come and go as they please, though I request they not remove the sparklings from the nursery. It is a safety issue more than anything.”

“And- and the carriers, they are… Happy with this arrangement?”

Hardly. Megatron knew that Knockout would rather have sparked with his cojunx. Megatron could not, however, let a new decepticon breeding line be tainted by autobot detritus. No matter Breakdown’s loyalties, he was not to breed. The words had stung Breakdown, and Knockout had even tried to bare his buzzsaw.  Megatron had knocked sense into him after that, before their joining.

“They accept it with as much joy as they can muster in these difficult times.” He motioned to two tiny sparklings. “Soundwave’s twins. He was blessed with a litter. Soundwave is… A nurturer. His symbionts replicate the bond of a carrier and sparklings. He has carried to term thrice already. It is also why I see fit that he care for the sparklings when he is not surveying.”

Orion absentmindedly placed a servo along his abdomen, where his gestational tank lay beneath the plating. Megatron watched as Orion observed the sparklings, a desperate hunger in his optics.

“You have always wanted one,” Megatron murmured, reaching out to comfort the poor mech. He knew all too well the struggles of a mech who had never bonded, had no one to share a sparking with. And at his spark, Megatron knew that Orion was a mech of nurture. He was gentle and careful. He would make an excellent carrier. “Would you like one now?”

Orion’s blue optics glowed as they placed focus on Megatron. “Sired by you.” It was a statement of confirmation, rather than an admission of desire.

“If you have no desire then Knockout can fit you with a seal for your gestational tank. You will be free to take the pleasures from your body with whomever you deem worthy. I have no qualms against interface under my command, only that it remain consensual, safe and does not interfere with duties.” Megatron clasped his servos together, fiddling with his digits. “I admit to a desire to see you sparked up with my spawn.”

“I have always wanted one,” Orion echoed. “As a youngling I would play with the dolls that femmes were so fond of, I wanted it to be a sparkling.”

“And the young ones deserve to experience this as well.” Megatron motioned to the room behind the tiny nursery, where Orion saw only the shadows of young mechs and femmes playing together. “Starscream’s brood- and my own. They have grown strong.”

“Two warframes and a seeker,” Orion said, absentminded. His servo still rested along his abdominal plating- Megatron reached over to place his own servo there, reassuring Orion. He was unsure of what, but his engines revved protectively. “I have always wanted to be a carrier.”

Megatron wondered if that was Orion’s permission.

* * *

Orion contemplated his choice, knowing the heat would only get worse. Of course he could suffer through it, or dare to self service. Many siring mechs enjoyed teasing carriers of their heats, accusing them of being insatiable pleasure drones when they went into their cycle. Orion couldn't speak for the whole of carrying frames, but he certainly wasn't in a rush to open his panel to anyone.

It wasn't uncommon for heats to be uncomfortable and  _ brutal _ . Ignorable and manageable, but it didn't make it any less painful at times. Self service could be more pain than pleasure, overloads could end up overheating someone’s core, heats could run fans and vents into jamming or malfunctioning. Opening up for interface or self service could be a gamble all on its own, ignoring the chance of sparking new life.

And still he ached to create something.

Orion knew it was the heat, but he couldn't deny his own desires. Mechs without the desire for sparklings took precautions, sometimes in the forms of gestational tank seals, bolts, injected themselves with antibodies that could kill the nanites within transfluid. Orion had done none of that. He had always intended to carry someday- and he had a chance now. A choice.

He was safer than any other decepticon on the  _ Nemesis _ . As an archivist he lead a comfortable and relatively stress-free duty. It would be a shame not to take his opportunity.

He would be able to see his sparkling as he wished. He would know it was safe. Orion shivered as he thought of how Megatron’s talons had felt spreading over his abdominal plating. And his sparkling would be safe, with Megatron as their sire. He had no doubt his commander would stop at nothing to make sure all his bitlets were protected at all costs.

Orion had reached his decision.

* * *

“I ask you to be gentle,” Orion whispered from beneath Megatron. He had a servo on the massive mech’s chassis, holding him at bay. “My cycles leave me… Sensitive.”

“Painfully so?” Megatron grasped Orion by his wrist, urging him down flat against the berth. “I will make this as enjoyable as I can for you, my old friend.”

“It can be difficult for me to enjoy it at times,” Orion admitted, though he vented out a long huff as he felt talons stroking and teasing at his anterior node. It was sensitive, but the cool touch of another servo had a much nicer effect. He whimpered, a dull and painful throb spreading through his valve. He kept his spike tucked away- his body wasn't terribly enamored with that piece of array right then- as he curled his legs up, enticing Megatron to come closer. “Megatron…”

The unspoken request was fulfilled. Megatron kissed him, wayward servos teasing and touching, digits playing with the seam between his chest plates. He knew he would have to open it for the sparking to take place, though he was reluctant to. Some part of his processor wouldn't let him make himself so vulnerable; not yet.

Orion tucked his face into his arm, energon heating his cheeks. He was never quite so embarrassed to bare himself to a lover- he was modest, not virginal. It was different now, with the expectation of creating new life. His interface panel opened with a muted click, the cool air that rushed in causing him to gasp. He was more sensitive than he had anticipated.

“Megatron-” Orion new led out as digits brushed the swollen folds of his valve. He grimaced at the sheer sensation. It was too much from just one touch. “Please- it's…”

Orion trailed off, servo over his intake as Megatron teased a digit into his port. His calipers clicked and stretching, seeking something, anything to clasp onto. One finger had enough charge to bring his entire processor to a grinding halt. “It's unbearable.”

Megatron rapidly ramped up the speed and the amount he penetrated Orion with. He was helpless to do anything but writhe and squirm as his captain spread him open with thick, sharp digits, a puddle of lubricants forming on the berth between their legs. It was easier with quicker friction, less individual touches. More left him numb, less left him in agony.

“Seeing you in need of my spike has me breathless, Orion.” Megatron ghosted his intake along Orion’s chassis, kissing the seam between his chestplates. “Your frame aches for me, and yet you remain silent, beyond telling me of your cycle’s ravage. Tell me what you need of me, old friend.”

“Your spike,” Orion gasped out, his face hot. Megatron pried his arm away from his helm, to see the blue dusting along his facial plates. “I'm open, Megatron, and I'm not a sealed virgin. Please, end this torture. It only hurts.”

Megatron teased open the deepest set of calipers. They clicked around his digits, attempting to resize themselves for him. “I want nothing more than to finger you until you cannot even speak,” he said, thumbing the pulsing anterior node of the young archivist. “I ache to tease your ceiling node until you overflow- have you ever overflowed, Orion?”

Orion flushed. Of course there was nothing wrong with overflowing- some mechs even found it to be an erotic and enticing phenomena. The act of spurting transfluid from one’s valve was just a rarity enough for it to be considered exotic, borderline taboo. To the nobility class, that was. “I cannot- h-haven’t- never.”

Orion had been under the impression it was a you did or you didn't thing. He hadn't even thought that, perhaps, all frames had the capability.

“Or perhaps I will put my intake to you. I will lavish your valve with my fluids, I will make you drip with lubricant. You would quench my thirst with the puddle you are dripping.” Megatron had his glossa on his anterior node then, and Orion’s entire frame fritzed. His vents stalled, vocalizer clicking with only a hiss of air. He saw grey, his optics whiting out and turning to static. All he could feel was the intake on his array, glossa against his swollen node, Megatron's oral lubricant sliding between his folds. It was too much.

A violent overload shook Orion’s frame. He went completely limp, his processor starting a forced reboot.

Orion groaned and pressed his legs together, his array far too sensitive now that he'd had an overload. “I rebooted,” he said. His voice was plain, as if it were a declaration that he'd finished a tedious assignment. “That's never happened before.”

Megatron actually  _ laughed _ , and Orion suddenly felt rather self conscious of the fact he'd been hit so hard by his overload he had to reboot his processor. Megatron purred and splayed his talons along Orion’s thighs. “Perhaps I should make you overload again. I could get used to being thought so talented I send my berth partners offline in the throes of passion.”

“It's the heat,” Orion sputtered, his features glowing a husky blue. “Please, Megatron, your spike-”

“Oh, how lovely you sound when you beg.” Megatron slid along Orion's frame, his engines revving with every twitch. He reached between them to grip his spike, pressing against the folds of Orion’s valve. He slid between the swollen lips, not yet penetrating him. Orion thrashed from the stimulation, crying out.

“Megatron! Spike me! Frag- frag-  _ frag _ me! Oh,  _ oh!”  _ Upon his last cry Megatron speared the poor archivist on his spike, driving into him with power that only a warframe had. He felt as if he would split in two, not from Megatron's girth though it was impressive, but because the sensors along his entire frame were lighting up and charging, heat coursing through his lines. For half a moment he expected to offline simply from the heat alone.

“Yes, you sound so lovely,” Megatron moaned, pressing Orion’s knees up until he had him doubled over. He didn't cease his thrusting for even a moment, the broad head of his spike battering the aperture of Orion’s gestational tank.

For all his other interface partners, Orion couldn't remember a single one who had so utterly and brutally pounded him like Megatron did. Their compatibility in size helped to make it that much more pleasurable. Orion tossed his helm back, optics whiting out as Megatron seemed to finally hit a switch inside him and the iris of his gestation chamber cycled open.

A tremor pulsed through Orion. He knew it was time. His chest plates surged with charge as they parted, revealing his spark. Vulnerable and laid out, he was unsure of how gentle Megatron would be with his spark. It was too late to back out now.

Megatron was anything but cruel to him. As his chest plates split and his purple spark emerged, reaching out, seeking Orion's, he imparted a certain comfort to the archivist. It was gentle, kind. Orion had never felt safer.

Orion wasn't sure when he'd overloaded, but his entire frame shook with the strength of the charge releasing. His valve clenched and his spark sent a pulse of energy through the merge. Megatron's entire body was fighting to keep moving, his legs finally locking up as he spilled transfluid into Orion's chamber.

They stayed locked together, Megatron's frame slow to settle on top of Orion. He kissed what metal he could, whispering under his breath as he made himself comfortable. Orion was too tired to push Megatron off. It felt good to keep his depressurized spike inside his open valve. It felt right, even.

Orion slipped into recharge to the fantasy of holding his sparkling for the first time.

* * *

“Welcome to the fold of Megatron's breeding harem,” Knock Out snorted as he took his medical scanner and waved it over Orion's abdomen. He ‘hmm’d at the results, scanning Orion once more, this time over his spark.

“You make it sound as if it's not a gift to be sparked,” Orion said, knocking that Knock Out was already carrying his own sparkling by Megatron's siring. According to Megatron it was his second time carrying. Orion was only glad the medic had personal experience carrying.

“Oh yes, I absolutely adore being sparked by someone other than my conjunx.” Knock Out grimaced upon scanning Orion's spark chamber once more. His scanner beeped and he vented out heavily. “It's official. You're sparked. Start thinking of a name.”

“Surely Megatron must have his reasons?”

“Yes. He doesn't want autobot CNA in his precious decepticon breeding lines.” Knock Out was reading through the scrolling data along his scanner, turning to his console instead. “Oh, and he's a pompous, self righteous aft. ‘Best genetics available’ my aft, he wants to stick his spike in as many mechs as possible…”

Knock Out's mumbling soon became inaudible, and Orion tried not to be troubled by the medic’s clear displeasure of his situation. Instead he placed his hands over his abdomen, right over his gestation chamber. He couldn't help but smile. Inside him was a growing sparkling, its frame using the nanites provided by Megatron to build itself. There was a tiny spark orbiting his own, one that would drop down into the frame within him and unfurl from his body after the appropriate gestation period.

Orion vented out, optics shuttered as he pressed his EM field inward, trying to reach the sparkling. It wouldn't be able to respond yet, far too soon, but he still imparted a healthy dose of love and reassurance to the tiny spark within him. He wanted this sparkling to know it was wanted and loved.

Upon being kicked out of the med bay with supplemented medical grade energon and a strong desire to rest and “speak” to his sparkling, Orion instead headed to his work station. He would tell Megatron after his shift. For now, Orion would decode and he would be mindful to impart his presence to his growing sparkling.

Yes, he thought as he placed a servo over his gestation tank with a smile. This was exactly what he wanted. Nothing could take this away from him.

* * *

Optimus had barely spoken after regaining his memories.

Ratchet was concerned, and every time he offered to give his old friend a check up he was quietly refuted. “Optimus?”

Optimus looked up from the console. He hadn't stopped decoding since he had first said it needed to happen. He'd barely recharged, definitely hadn't refueled. He was looking frail, his silver highlights looking dull and almost gray. “Yes, Ratchet?”

“For the sake of Primus,” Rachel muttered as he pulled a cube of energon from his subspace. “You need to refuel. You look awful- you were fed on the decepticon ship, weren't you?”

Optimus stopped typing, looking lost in his own processor to contemplate Ratchet’s question. “I don't remember.”

Too much of Optimus’s memory was missing. Everything was fleeting. He could remember flashes of discomfort and heat, he could remember bursts of overload- he hadn't shared that with Ratchet- and he could remember confusion and hurt when he had finally made the decision to seek out the autobots as Orion Pax.

“Please, Optimus, take a break. Drink this.” Ratchet shoved the cube into Optimus’s hands and then, hesitantly, placed a hand on his arm. “You've been distant since you returned.”

Optimus peeled open the cube and avoided Ratchet’s gaze. A long vent out had him shuttering his optics and trying to remember. He had no idea what he was trying to remember, but he knew it was important. One servo found its way to his abdomen, a warmth there he didn't remember from before.

Optimus shook his head with a long sigh. “I don't know, old friend. I don't know.” He spared a glance down at himself, as if it would provide him the answers he needed. “But as Orion Pax I know it was important. And…”

“And?” Ratchet queried.

Optimus slumped back against the console. His hand stayed on his stomach, finding it gave him some modicum of comfort. “I just can't help but feel as if I am forgetting something very important.”


	2. Babies Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all wanted more so here's Optimus and his baby. Not pictured here: Soundwave making smiley emoticons because he gets to hold Hot Rod

Optimus hadn't allowed Ratchet to terminate the sparkling upon finding it. 

As Orion Pax he had ached to be a creator, and even as Optimus he wanted something to care for. He wasn't allowed to think of himself first, not if he was to be a proper Prime, but the Matrix seemed to hold the life of the sparkling sacred enough that it didn't punish Optimus for claiming he would keep it.

Even on his knees, holding a bar and biting down on a pipe, with Ratchet whispering encouragements to him through the emergence, he felt the pain and the exhaustion was the worst punishment he could face for daring to  _ want _ this sparkling. Even when he knew who the sire had to be.

Ratchet had begged him to terminate. Ratchet had begrudgingly accepted his refusal only after exhausting every possible bad thing that could come of Optimus keeping the sparkling. The sparkling that, at best, was of a random decepticon’s siring.

Telling the children had been an awkward thing. Explaining that the reason Optimus didn't “look preggers,” according to Miko, had been an adventure in Cybertronian anatomy and breeding habits he had been mortified to talk about.

The team had mixed feelings, but at Optimus’s insistence they were pacified about the sparkling being raised as an autobot. No mech was born bad, he had said, even Megatron had been pure in his intentions before he'd been corrupted.

Optimus found himself unable to regret keeping the sparkling, even through the pain of birth. Inside him was a mech fighting to get out, to become a part of the world around them, and Optimus refused to not give them a chance.

“Push,” Ratchet said, a palm over Optimus’s shoulder plate. He rubbed soothingly, urging him on with kind words. “Now vent. Take a moment to get your core temperature down. You're running hot.”

“Is Optimus going to be okay?” Raf called from the platform, watching with anxious and idle hands along with the other children. Optimus hadn't let Ratchet kick them out, along with the rest of the team. Of course, if Ratchet had to put up with them all fussing over their leader he would force them to shut up and keep their hands to themselves.

“Eup-yup! Quiet! His chamber is dilated and he’s pushing, give him  _ time _ !” Ratchet reached for the Prime and continued to utter quiet reassurance to him. “Easy, now. Relax, you can let go of the bar, down you go. We'll try again after a breather.”

Optimus slumped, still holding tight to bar above him but dropped the pipe between his dentae. “Ratchet,” he gasped, his gaze going hard and his frame convulsing with another contraction, “This sparkling is coming  _ now _ and they will not wait!”

Ratchet grimaced, but returned his attention to helping Optimus through the motions. “Alright, hold tight. Your knees need to be further apart, yes, there we go…” Ratchet talked Optimus through getting into position, soon switching to talking him through venting and pushing. He glanced down, scanner in hand and nodding. “Bitlet’s crowning. Just a bit more, Optimus.”

“Why isn't Boss Bot on his back? Wouldn't that be like, way easier on him?” Miko called, looking rather concerned for the Prime

Ratchet made a face, but didn't shush her. “And risk the bitlet becoming stuck? No, this way gravity will pull the bit down, a shorter birth.”

“Ratchet!” Optimus exclaimed, a bleat of static coming over him. The medic snapped back to attention, one hand on Optimus’s back strut and the other down to cup the crown of the sparkling.

“One last push, Optimus. Make it count.” Ratchet waited for the last heave, trying to help Optimus along with little prying tugs.

Optimus gave one last push with a loud groan, dropping his hands down to the floor. He all but collapsed, his vents roaring and his frame shaking from the sheer exhaustion of bringing forth his sparkling to the world.

The tiny wail that graced his audials was worth the pain.

Optimus pushed his body back until he was sitting up, struts straining with even that much effort. “Let me see,” he croaked. He needed to see his creation.

Ratchet was already cleaning the bitlet up, mesh towels coming over the fussy little thing with ease to show off his mostly red plating. To Optimus’ surprise and relief, the sparkling’s secondary and tertiary colors were orange and yellow respectively. He barely resembled Megatron at all. That was just if Megatron even  _ was _ the sire, though Optimus wasn't sure that he would ever interface with anyone else as Orion Pax.

The only part of him that Optimus could see Megatron in was the tiny silver legs, and thick armored plating that was reminiscent of a warframe.

Cleaned up, Ratchet handed Optimus his sparkling, who was wiggling and faintly waving an arm. Already the bitlet was getting a sense for his cables, tiny pedes twitching. Optimus cradled the newspark in his arms, the tiny frame settled against the crook of his grip. Instinctively he brought a finger to the bit’s tiny intake, and allowed them to suckle. His finger reacted with the new creation programming running strong in his processor, and one micro transformation later there was processed energon coming through a line down his finger for the sparkling to consume.

“He’s perfect,” Optimus murmured, in awe that his body could produce something so magical.

“What’re you going to name him?” Miko shouted from the platform. That outburst seemed to get the rest of the team going as they clamored around their leader, sending him a barrage of emotions from their EM fields, and a barrage of questions at the same time.

“What class frame is he?” Arcee asked, her tiny winglets fluttering in excitement.

_ “Will he be able to race?” _ Beeped Bumblebee.

“He's totally gonna get big, right?” Asked Bulkhead, peering over Optimus’s shoulder. “He's so tiny!”

“It’s still bigger than one of us,” Jack called in response, though Raf smacked him for calling the sparkling an “it.”

“Yip-bip!” Ratchet shoved Arcee and Bumblebee aside. “Optimus needs to  _ rest _ now. He's just finished emerging an entire new life- unless you've all just  _ forgotten _ the last several hours of pain he's been in.”

Optimus wasn't listening. He was busy marveling at the tiny creature in his arms, content to suckle energon from his digit. Despite having given birth on the floor of an underground bunker, on a planet far from home, in the midst of a devastating civil war he couldn't help but think that, looking into the blue eyes of his sparkling, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever done.

“Earth to Optimus!” The Prime looked up to the children at Miko’s call, finally focusing on the world around him. Once she'd caught his attention she continued, “What’re we gonna name Prime Junior?”

Optimus hmm’d and looked back down to his newspark. “I have no ideas yet. It's too soon to tell.”

“What? You didn't have any picked out?” Jack asked, peering down to try and see the bitlet easier.

“Traditionally,” and Optimus stressed the word, “I would have a full decacycle in order to acquaint myself with my sparkling’s mannerisms and personality before I officially presented him to my cohorts. That is equivalent to about three Earth weeks.”

“So you have an entire month to think of a name?” Raf asked, peeking over the rail. He looked curious, and Optimus would have gladly let the children get a better view of the sparkling if he thought he could move his legs.

“Alright, alright, enough,” Ratchet huffed, helping Optimus to his feet before he somehow pried the newspark from his creator. He cradled the bitlet carefully before pointing, and glaring at Optimus. “To your berth. Now.”

Optimus had a feeling he would be there for a while before Ratchet let him up.

* * *

“What about Racetrack? Ooh, or  _ Fallout? _ What if we named him Flame?”

“Nah, knew some mech named Flame. Not a fan,” Bulkhead rumbled. “Besides. He's gonna be  _ big. _ You seen Optimus? He's gotta have a designation like, like Dredge or Kickback.”

Optimus listened as Miko and Bulkhead thought of names for the sparkling. He couldn't help but managed a tired smile, his bitlet suckling energon from his fingertip. “I have already decided on a designation,” he said to the two. “You need not waste more processing power on it.”

“Alright! What's his name, Boss Bot?” Miko demanded, bouncing up and down beside Bulkhead.

“His designation will be Hot Rod,” Optimus hummed, coming closer so Miko would be able to see his sparkling. “He's quite impatient. I've learned he doesn't care much for waiting. He also runs through fuel like a racer.”

“That's wicked! So what? He's not like, Hot Rod Prime or anything?”

Optimus shook his head once more. “No, Miko. Primacy is a title bestowed, not inherited. I wouldn't wish Primacy on an infant.” He did manage to crack a smile. “Bitlets need to have  _ fun.” _

“I could almost mistake that for a joke,” Bulkhead mumbled before he peered into the Prime’s arms at the tiny, yawning bitlet. “Hey, there, Hot Rod. Look how tiny you are- could fit you in the palm of my hand…”

“Would you care to hold him?” Optimus asked, eyes smiling at the very thought of Bulkhead cradling his tiny sparkling.

“Me? But he's tiny! What if I break him?”

“He's made sturdier than you think.” Optimus held out the bitlet’s frame, helping Bulkhead to hold him in the correct position. “Support his helm. His neck cabling hasn't developed quite yet. He should be resting along the length of your arm.”

Optimus smiled as Bulkhead surrendered himself to the sparkling in his arms. Hot Rod was wiggling and grunting, unhappy to be disturbed from his meal. He wailed after a few displeased minutes. Bulkhead panicked and looked to Optimus with a sad look of  _ help me. _

“He's just tired,” Optimus said with a soothing click to his son. He was already subduing Hot Rod’s wails with another offering of energon.

* * *

Besides himself, Optimus could count Ratchet and Bumblebee as the other two who carried Hot Rod around just as much, if not more than he did. Ratchet refused to let the sparkling be held when he had him in his grasp, cooing, humming and singing to the bitlet, and then vehemently denying he was doing it.

Bumblebee was much more open about his adoration. He regularly beeped and signed to Hot Rod, who giggled and squeaked in response. Bumblebee was one of the few that Hot Rod wouldn't protest being away from Optimus for, and for that the Prime was grateful.

Bulkhead and Arcee would be easier to have watch the sparkling when he was a bit older. As for Wheeljack, he was strictly not allowed to babysit without supervision. Jack had dubbed him “the uncle who brings fireworks to the Christmas party.” Optimus didn't know what three of those things were.

“Is something the matter, Optimus?” Ratchet asked, bouncing Hot Rod on his hip. The sparkling was growing fast, constantly demanding fuel and attention, and it took all of them to keep him occupied.

Optimus had been drifting in and out of his head when Ratchet called him. He hmm’d and managed a smile. “Yes. I was… I was thinking about Hot Rod.”

“What about him?” Ratchet grunted as the fussy bitlet jammed one of Ratchet’s fingers in his mouth, suckling incessantly. “He's hungry.”

Optimus took him then, allowing Hot Rod to suckle from his finger. “About the sire.”

“You said you didn't know who-”

“We both know who his sire is, Ratchet.” Optimus vented out with a heavy gaze to his son. “And we both know he will not leave this peacefully where it lies. He will want Hot Rod back.”

“Then make this the bargaining chip.” Ratchet poised himself over Optimus, irritation mounting. “Make Hot Rod his reason to stop this Primus forsaken war. He deserves at least that much for forcing you to-”

“Ratchet.” Optimus inclined his helm. Ratchet went silent. “I do not believe he forced Orion Pax. I believe Megatron to be many things, but a rapist is not one. I believe Orion Pax to have been a willing participant. As Orion, I was very intimate with Megatron before the war. You know that. It's not far fetched to think as Orion, I still had those feelings for Megatron.”

“Then how do you explain this? How can you look at Hot Rod and say you wanted this?”

Optimus did look at his son as he spoke, the little blue optics shuttering rapidly. He vented deep once more and held Hot Rod closer, resting their forehelms together. “Because as Orion I can think of nothing else I wanted more than a sparkling. As Optimus-” he halted, losing his words for a moment, “As Optimus all I want is our planet back. And one reason I want it back is because I want my son to grow up on it.”

Ratchet turned his head away. The words were too much to take, even when he had been the one to ask for them.

Before the medic could respond, the command console beeped. Ratchet stared at it with a wary gaze. That was a communication request.

Optimus knew already that it was time to face the consequences of his actions. Orion's actions or Optimus’s, he accepted them both as his own. He clutched Hot Rod to his chest as he stood before the console, accepting the communication request. Straightened up, he steeled himself for the worst.

Megatron was alone on the screen. Not what Optimus had expected, but not terribly bad. “Prime,” he greeted with a curt nod. His scowl twisted up into a wry smirk. “I see my timing was correct.”

“I expected you to call much sooner, actually,” Optimus said. His tone was cold as he held Hot Rod close; like Megatron could reach through the screen and pluck him free. “Hot Rod emerged over three Earth months ago.”

“Hot Rod? Interesting. I would have chosen something a bit more regal.” Megatron was still smirking. He leaned in, as if trying to peer closer at the tiny sparkling against Optimus’s chassis. “He has yellow on him. Curious.”

“Transfluid was graciously donated by some of my team, to assist the growth during my carrying,” Optimus replied coolly. “And before you ask, it was injected into me artificially.”

Megatron scowled. “So you allowed random CNA to be a part of my heir’s genetic makeup.”

“Not random, no.” Optimus wouldn't take the bait Megatron had laid out for him. He wouldn't comment on the claim that Hot Rod was his heir. “Whatever attempts at gaining custody of my sparkling you can rest assured will not work. He is in safe and capable hands.”

“ _ Our _ sparkling, Prime,” Megatron tsked. “It's such a shame you don't remember the hand I played in creating him. Orion certainly had fun.”

“I have no doubt. The state of my frame tells me you took care of me as Orion.” Optimus refused to separate himself from Orion too far. Not like everyone else had. There was a part of him that the Matrix could never take, and that was Orion. “State your intentions, Megatron.”

“I want my sparkling, Prime.”

“ _ Our _ sparkling,” Optimus parroted. “The only instance you would have him is if this war was done with. He has already been born into a war he has nothing to do with, I refuse to leave him a war to inherit.”

Megatron scowled. “I have several other heirs just like him.”

“None of them borne from a Prime.” Optimus was taking a gamble. If Megatron desired Hot Rod as an heir then he had to admit to some degree of taking special interest.

There was a heavy silence between them. Optimus stilled his vents and placed a hand over Hot Rod’s squirming frame to steady him. The bitlet opened his mouth to wail, clearly distressed by something. Panic struck Optimus then, unsure and unwilling to find out how Megatron would react to their sparkling wailing in perceived weakness. He quietly hushed Hot Rod, pressing his finger to the bitlet’s mouth. Hot Rod vehemently shoved the hand away, only wailing louder.

“I’ll agree to a temporary ceasefire.”

Hot Rod’s wailing died down to wayward whimpers as Optimus perked up at the statement. He relaxed visibly, which quieted Hot Rod down considerably. He couldn’t help a smile behind his battle mask.

“I’m glad to hear it. I knew you wouldn’t put your own sparkling in danger like that. As much as you like to pretend, your siring program is in use.” Optimus’s own carrier programs were running hot. He was more than prepared to die for his sparkling.

Megatron didn’t acknowledge him. “On the condition that I get to see my sparkling. Supervision is expected, so long as Soundwave is also there to supervise.”

“I expected nothing less.” Optimus let Hot Rod look to the screen, who was gurgling excitedly. The sparkling reached out, his tiny fists grasping at nothing. He seemed to recognize Megatron and cooed in his direction, causing the warlord to jerk back, despite the ridiculousness of the action.

“He’s making noise.”

“He’s trying to reach out for you,” Optimus corrected. “Have you never cared for a sparkling?”

“No. I leave that to Soundwave and Knock Out.”

Optimus couldn’t help but smile again. “We’ll have to fix that.”


End file.
